


The Heart of a Man and the Form of a Monster

by silverthread



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 1700s Au, Beauty and the Beast AU, M/M, Monster Hunter AU, The World Will Never Know, how do these ideas work together?, so stay tuned!, tags will be updated as work updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-08-20 02:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16547207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverthread/pseuds/silverthread
Summary: Jesse McCree is a monster hunter. He's been up and down the North American continent and across the sea with his mentor, Gabriel, responding to distress calls from villages and towns dealing with preternatural forces beyond their control. It's his job, and he likes to think he's damn good at it.So why, for the love of everything good and holy, is he living under the roof of a beast he should, by all rights, be hunting? And, perhaps more pressingly; why is he starting to like the bastard?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first publicly-posted fanfic! Please accept my humble offering lol  
> I've had this weird 1700s monster hunter/beauty and the beast au thing kicking around in my head for a while!! I was motivated to write it up when I discovered the dearth of that good werewolf!Hanzo content. Not saying that this is gonna be any good, but you get me.  
> Please enjoy, any constructive criticism is more than welcome!

Jesse rose from his knees, dust falling from the cloth from his pants. Though it wasn't part of the official rites, he muttered a quiet prayer over the emaciated corpse beneath him. La Llorona had caused them a lot of trouble over the past month, been plaguing the town even longer. He should hate it. But when he looks down at the husk of a corpse, dehydrated skin covered in ink they themselves had poked into it, he can't help but feel a pang of remorse for the spirit this body had belonged to. 

"What are you dilly-dallying over?" A rough voice asked, somewhere behind him. Jesse turned to face where Gabe was sitting, propped with his back against a cactus skeleton. His two huge shotguns lay, in states of disassembly, across his lap and the ground around him. Jesse's six-shooter sat beside his thigh, already cleaned and reloaded. "Don't muck the rites up with any additions. We don't want to risk that thing coming back once we're gone." 

Jesse ambled over to the skeleton and slid down against it, his shoulder brushing against Gabe's. He picked up his gun from the desert ground, choosing to fiddle with it rather than let his gaze linger over the inhumanly thin and pale body a few feet away. "Just sayin' a quick prayer. Puttin' in a good word for her an' all that." 

Though he couldn't see it on his face, Jesse could hear the exasperation in Gabe's tone. This was a conversation they'd had many times over, especially after cases concerning something that had once been human. Gabe's firm convictions were supported by decades of experience, and were matched only by Jesse's own stubborn nature. "You know that's not how this works." 

"You can't prove that it's not." 

"It was drowning children, Jesse. Even if there was a way for it to be saved, I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed." 

Jesse couldn't stop himself from glancing at the starved body. He remembers arriving in Pueblo Duero over a month ago. Mothers veiled in black, explaining that their children had gone missing by the river. Little waterlogged bodies washing up on the shore to be found by search parties if the parents were lucky, or by coyotes and vultures if they weren't. He'd seen a lot of shit working with Gabe all these years, and he'd thought he'd seen it all. But this case had rattled them both beyond what they were used to, if one could be used to anything in their line of work. He'd been relieved when they'd managed to coax the spirit back into its old body, and trap it with a complicated array of bonds and seals that had taken all the strength they'd had left after hunting the thing to enforce. 

But still, Jesse can't help but feel bad for the human she'd once been. La Llorona, the legendary Wailing Woman, could come to be in a variety of ways, according to Gabe. Each had their own story, every one of them ugly and tragic in their own ways. But they all had one thing in common, one thing that deformed their spirits and set them down the path to becoming a creature of legend. In an enraged madness, they each committed infanticide, usually by drowning. According to legend, after realizing what she'd done, each woman would spend the rest of her days wailing along the shores of the river, refusing to eat or drink and crying for her murdered children until she passed from hunger and thirst. After the body was buried, the woman's soul would return to her village to carry on her mourning at the riverside. Except, should any children wander into her path, she would confuse them for her own and drag them into the water, wanting to be reunited with their spirits. Five children had gone missing before Gabriel and Jesse had arrived, and three more during their time in Pueblo Duero. Jesse was glad they'd been able to trap the spirit back into its body before any more kids had gone missing. But cases like this, where people got mangled into something otherworldly, his mind always wandered to what the person in question would have thought, what they would have wanted.

"Weren't her fault," he muttered eventually, interrupting the sound of smooth cloth over metal as Gabe polished each part of his twin shotguns. It was a ritual of sorts, a through cleaning of each of their firearms after they'd finished up a case. A time to collect themselves, to process whatever completely illogical and preternatural phenomena they'd witnessed during the job. They often had talks like this, each of them going around each other like stubborn mules trying to pull a load in different directions. It was a much a part of the ritual as cleaning their weapons. "If she'd been herself, she wouldnt'a killed those little ones. Her spirit got twisted by what she'd done, she couldn't help it." 

Gabe blew a long-suffering sigh out from beneath his salt-and-pepper mustache. His voice was more resigned than biting when he spoke. He knew he couldn't break down Jesse's unfailing faith in people, as well as Jesse knew it was impossible to break through the layers of cynicism his boss had cloaked himself with over the decades of being a hunter. Instead of getting into a heated debate, Gabe gave him an admonishment that was far too fond to be serious. "You're too soft for this line of work, mijo." 

Jesse couldn't help but laugh. When he looked to his side, Gabe was putting his guns back together. So he stood, dusting off his dirty pantlegs and holstering his own weapon. He reached down to help Gabe up. "What's the sense in keeping me around then, old man?" 

Gabriel smiled despite himself, his face folding along defined lines as he took Jesse's arm and rose to his feet. "Figure you might be useful as bait one of these years. We'll stumble upon a wendigo or a chupacabra someday, and I'll toss you to 'em. Figure even a monster would have a tough enough time gnawin' through that thick head of yours to give me a few minutes' head start."

Jesse scoffed as they headed back towards the body, playing at being hurt. "That's real cold, Gabe. And mighty impractical. What's the use in training me to be a hunter if I'm just gonna become some nasty critter's dinner?" 

Gabe smiled over at him as he stooped to grab the body's wrists, careful not to disturb any of the seals they'd poked through the leathered skin. "Need someone to help me dig up graves and move bodies, don't I? Now hop to it, if we hurry we can make the cemetery before nightfall."

 

Later that night they holed up in the room they'd been staying at, in the home of the family who'd hired them on with a collection of funds from the town. They'd gotten paid up front, but after they'd informed the townsfolk that La Llorona shouldn't be bothering them again, they'd scraped together a few humble gifts. Nothing special, but people on the move as often as Gabe and Jesse were couldn't afford to be carting around special anyways. The townspeople had offered them provisions of food and water, brand new saddles for their horses, and a few trinkets they could carry on their person. Gabriel had tried to refuse, knowing how precious supplies like this were to such a small town, but the parents of the missing and dead children had insisted. 

Jesse was affixing the small golden rings the townsfolk had given him through his ears when he heard a faint scraping at the window. Gabe, who'd been humming quietly to himself as he packed up for the ride they had waiting for them early tomorrow morning, got up and opened the pane. In a rush of gold and white, the barn owl swooped into their room and onto his place on Gabe's shoulder. The bird chirred happily when Gabe scritched his forehead with one finger, and let him slide the roll of parchment between his talons out with another.

"Hey there, Jack." Jesse says by way of greeting. The owl regarded him, and the dark eyes sparkled with an almost-human level of intelligence. Jesse doesn't know the story behind the bird; near as he can tell, it's almost like the relationship between a witch and their familiar. As long as he's known Gabe, Jack's either been on his shoulder or been out collecting distress calls from villages hundreds of miles, even continents away. The owl's become a fixture in his life, the same way carrying silver dust and salt and dried sage has. He doesn't question it anymore. 

Once he's done greeting his companion, Gabe unrolls the scrap of parchment the bird had carried from God knows where. Jesse finished putting the delicate rings in his ears and laid back on his bedroll. He was already feeling tired at the thought of starting another job so soon after this one. No rest for the wicked, it seems. "Where we off to next?" He asks, tucking the brim of his hat over his eyes. 

"Japan." Gabe says, matter of fact as everything. Jesse tilted his hat back up with one finger to look up at where Gabe was sitting on the only bed in the room.

"Y'mean like, across the Pacific Ocean, Japan? Doesn't allow anyone outside'a Asia to enter the country, Japan?"

"The same." Gabe held out two fingers for Jack to perch on, then moved him to the headboard to allow the bird a few moments of much-needed rest. Jesse huffed and closed his eyes. 

"Alright, I wanna hear it. Better be good, trip like that's gonna take weeks." 

Gabe blew out two of the three candles in the room, then returned to the creaky old bed that Jesse had insisted he take when they'd arrived. He pulled a writing surface, paper, and an enchanted quill that never needed ink from his bag of personal effects. He'd picked it up from a coven they'd raided a few years back, originally intending to figure out the enchantment behind it and how he might duplicate it. They hadn't puzzled it out yet, but it was still useful. Gabe talked as he wrote, likely a message that they were on the case. "Apparently there's a forest, with three towns on the outskirts of it. Trade and travelers used to be able to pass through it, but a decade ago a monster made his home at the heart of it. They can't get food and supplies without expensive trips around the forest, and each of the towns are dying. Together, they're gonna pay for our boat trip and a discrete landing that the authorities won't notice. They're gonna pay for our rooms, and supply us with everything we need to take the monster down." 

Jesse sighs. He hates long boat trips. Give him a week on the ocean or three weeks in a saddle, he'd take dry land any day. Sure, you got saddlesore after a while, but at least you weren't coughing your guts up over the side of your horse. But, it sounded like these people were in pretty dire straits. At least a new country, new experiences, would be waiting for them at the end of the journey. Going to different places he'd otherwise never have gone to, meeting people he otherwise never would have crossed paths with, is one of Jesse's favorite things about this job. Besides helping people who needed it, of course. 

"What kind of monster?" He asks absently, sleep already drawing him down with gentle fingers. But he was curious, especially about beasts he'd never seen before. The farthest he's ever been with Gabe over the years is Russia, and despite the biting cold and desolate landscape they'd spent most of their time in, losing himself in an entirely new world of myths and legends had been fascinating. He can only imagine the different beasts that may exist on another continent, how local legends around ghosts and demonic forces might be different from the ones they were used to in the New World. 

"A lycan, by the sounds of it." Gabe finishes whatever he's writing, blows over the parchment to help it dry, then rolls it up and lays it out on the windowpane for Jack to take once he was ready and rested after what had no doubt been a long journey. "They describe something that looks like a man, but a few feet bigger and astonishingly strong. Fur, fangs, claws, a tail. The whole kit. Whether or not it behaves the same as the werewolves we've faced in our part of the world remains to be seen." 

Jesse hums thoughtfully and turns in his bedroll. Gabe pulls a few cubes of the dried meat he keeps as treats for the owl out of his bag. A lycan. They've dealt with plenty before, this should be simple enough. Maybe if they get it sorted out quick, they'll be able to tour the Japanese countryside and get in a little bit of a vacation. Gabe blows out the candle and Jesse closes his eyes. It's probably unlikely, but a man can dream.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for the warm reception on the first chapter. Here's one from Hanzo's POV! I think I'm gonna try to have alternating POVs each chapter, it seems to fit with how I'm trying to tell the story.   
> There's a lot of exposition for this one, hopefully its not too boring for ya'll! I put a lot of thought into how Hanzo's been living on his own, I wanted to make it believable and at least semi-realistic. 
> 
> Also, I made a fanfic tumblr!! Come yell about fandom stuff with me over at silverthread-writes ! It's a little barren right now, I'll try to spruce it up a bit. 
> 
> That's all I have this time, thanks for reading!

Hanzo emerges from the greater forest onto the overgrown, but not as densely vegetated, grounds of the estate. The spotted deer was a heavy weight on his shoulder, the product of a day's hunt that would ensure his survival for another few days. Though he frequently found unofficial offerings on the edge of the forest from the village that surrounded it, they alone were not substantial enough to live off of entirely. Hunting was a necessity, as was the occasional robbing of trade wagons that dared to pass through the forest in an attempt to shave a few days off of a trip. These instances were becoming rarer as news of his residency at the heart of the forest spread, for which Hanzo was glad. He despised being reduced to the likes of a common highwayman, waiting to pounce on passing travelers and raid their stores while they ran back to whatever town they'd come from. But his stomach sometimes got the better of him, especially during the winter months when the offerings became more rare. Thankfully it usually only took a charge at 

The doors creak as he pushes them open. They haven't been treated, repaired, or replaced in over a decade, and in all that time they'd swollen with water and contracted in the cold, over and over again. Years ago, the thought that a piece of the Shimada castle could come to such a state of disrepair would be unthinkable. Years ago, the grounds would have been kept up to keep the forest at bay, there would be fish swimming happily in the pond behind the estate, the rooms inside would be filled with chatter and noise as everyone went about their daily business. Now, the growth of the forest has crept over the boarder of the castle to blend it in with the greater forest, the fish are long eaten, and Hanzo can't remember the last time he heard a human voice that wasn't the unintelligible scream of a villager fleeing for their life. 

He heads for the kitchens. On his way, a blue wisp of otherworldly smoke curls around the arm not holding the carcass. A greeting. Hanzo opens his free palm, allowing Miyume's spectral form to slither between his fingers like a cat might rub against one's hand. The dragon doesn't bother assuming a more solid physical form, simply rising to the physical world like a fish cresting the water and then sinking back down to her home beneath his skin. Hanzo feels the dragons' weight in his arm, in his entire body. They had been passed down in his family from generation to generation, a covenant made thousands of years ago between his forebears and ancient, elemental spirits. They have been his only companions over the many years since his transformation, and constant reminders of everything his family had been. They are a burden, but are perhaps the only thing that have saved him from going completely mad with the isolation. 

Once he gets to the kitchens dressing the deer is automatic, a choreographed dance with steps he's practiced many times over the years. It's a role he never would have taken in his old life, something he had to learn through trial and error. At the beginning it would have taken him half a day, and he would have lost most of the meat to spoil. Now, he knows to empty the organs of the animal as soon as he catches it, not to puncture the stomach, and to hang the carcass in a cool room that will keep the scavengers out for a few days. Then he will skin and butcher, leaving what he can't eat out as an offering to the forest and storing the rest. An average deer lasts him a week or two, depending on what the villages offer him or if any wagons bearing goods just happen to be abandoned by their skittish sellers. 

By the time he hangs the deer, the sun is descending westward. The hunt had taken most of the day, even for a skilled tracker like himself. He heads to the center of the estate, where the irori distributes warmth evenly to the rest of the rooms and provides heat to the pot that hangs over it. He adds coal to the dying hearth and stirs the pot he'd prepared early this morning. Miso soup, with whatever meat is ready to be cooked thrown in, is his standard evening meal these days. Today it's a rarity, cured pork he'd found at the edge of the forest with a few pouches of tea and a small bag of rice. He fits a bamboo steamer over the pot and pours the rice in, then covers it to let the grains cook. 

The estate is quiet. Even after all this time, the lack of activity gnaws at him. Since his transformation his senses have been heightened, so much so that he can faintly hear the sounds of the forest beyond the walls. It's ironic, that he can hear so acutely when there are no longer any voices or activity to hear. Lately he's been hearing phantom sounds, the voices of attendants and that his mind provides to fill in the blank of the silent castle. If he's not careful he loses himself, wakes up to the sound of hustle and bustle outside his door. Those days he can pretend, if only for a moment, that the past ten years have all been a terrible dream, that he can return to his life and his family and put the loneliness and fear behind him. He can pretend, until he opens his eyes and sees white fur where his skin should be, and opens his door to an empty home. 

He closes his eyes, breathing deeply and trying to center himself. Forget the past, focus on the here and now. Breathe in, and out. 

It's on one of those deep inhales that he catches it. The acrid scent of magic is unmistakable on the still air, and it only gets stronger as Hanzo springs to his feet. Who would be brazen enough to attack him in his own home? Who would even know to find him here? Hanzo's tail swishes behind him and his ears twitch, straining for some clue as to where the intruder might be lurking. The large room is tense and silent. His enhanced eyes dart from corner to corner, adjusting to the dying light from the sun outside. The silence stretches in taut seconds, the only sound in Hanzo's ears his own heartbeat. 

And then, a loud bang from somewhere behind him. He moves to the side just in time for the bullet to graze his shoulder, a shot that would have certainly been fatal had he been a moment slower. His ears are ringing and Hanzo whips around, moving towards the noise on instinct. A shadow in the corner moves independent of the light, unlike any man or beast he's yet encountered. Hanzo growls, and the dragons coil under his skin and fur. The shadow darts from corner to corner, trying to get in his blind spot and gain an advantage. Hanzo grits his teeth, shifts his feet to ready them to move. He turns his head, eyes following the shadow as it moves. In the low light he watches the nebulous shapes solidify into a form, something vaguely human with glowing red eyes and twin guns. 

Hanzo strikes out with a hunter's speed as soon as the man is solid enough to grab. The muzzle of a shotgun rounds on him, close enough to be deadly. This hunter is good, better than any that's come after him before, but he is far from the first one to come to the Shimada castle looking for a legendary kill. Hanzo fits one paw around it and yanks it from the hunter's grip, but not before the shotgun's twin lodges a bullet in his forearm. Hanzo growls and tosses the firearm to the side of the room, then rounds on the hunter. With one paw wringing around his neck Hanzo pushes the man against the wall, well off his feet. His other hand grips the hunter's wrist, pinning his gun to the wall behind him. 

"Drop your weapon," he growls, his voice rough with disuse. He can't remember the last time he'd actually spoken to someone. The man isn't Japanese, and Hanzo doesn't care if he speaks the language. He's sure his point will be made. 

The hunter's red eyes glare from the darkness like smoldering embers. They flicker with understanding, but the gun doesn't clatter to the floor. Hanzo grits his teeth and lets out a low growl. Still, the man refuses to capitulate. Hanzo takes no pleasure in killing, but he cannot suffer his home to be invaded. He squeezes, and the hunter's wrist crunches sickeningly in his grip. The man lets out a soft whimper, and he finally drops the gun. No sooner does the metal clack against the wooden floor, though, then the body under him shifts. Hanzo barely manages to twist out of the way of the dagger the hunter pulls with his free hand. The blade that grazes his side stings more than it should- it's likely threaded with silver. A smart play. Hanzo pulls the man up by his neck and slams him back against the wall, hard enough for him to drop the knife. 

Very well. Hanzo takes no pleasure in killing, but this hunter is obviously more skilled than a local hero with an old katana and an over-inflated ego. If he lets him go, he will likely return with friends. Hanzo is a predator, the most dangerous thing that stalks these woods, but even he could not fight back against a multitude of skilled hunters. No, best to kill him now and be on his guard for anyone coming to look for him in the future. He tightens the paw around the hunter's neck. He's gotten closer than anyone hunting him has in years, and for that Hanzo will give him a quick and painless death. He squeezes, expecting to feel the snapping of bones and the collapsing of the throat under his palm. 

But it doesn't come. Instead the hunter gasps, and a blinding burst of light bursts forth from his chest. It brings tears to Hanzo's sensitized eyes, and when his vision returns the blaze has faded to a faint glow, and spread to the rest of the hunter's body. Instead of skin under his palm, it feels like he is trying to wring the life out of solid steel. The bitter smell of magic assaults his nose as the light had his eyes, and Hanzo lets out a frustrated snarl. 

It's a ward, and a strong one. Some protective layer woven with old magic, something he's familiar enough with to know he cannot undo it. In the dim light emanating from the hunter's body, Hanzo can swear he sees a satisfied grin on his face. He scowls, and drives the hunter's head back into the wall. His body falls limp as he passes out, but whatever ward is on the man won't let Hanzo land a killing blow. He slings the body over his shoulder and makes for the cellar. If he can't get rid of the hunter with his own hands, he will let thirst and hunger do his job for him. 

By now night has fallen, and the forest creatures are out to complete whatever business they have to before the sun rises. As such, Hanzo doesn't give a second thought to the sound of wings fluttering just outside his window, and if he sees a streak of white against the night sky, he barely notices it as he opens the cellar door and tosses the hunter into the dark and the damp. 

Moments later an owl emerges from the moonlight, white and dappled gold shining in the bright moonlight. Its focus is not on the forest floor below, where no doubt any number of small creatures are scampering around on their nightly escapades, but on the horizon. On the town at the eastern edge of the forest. The owl beats its wings against the chill night air, a supernatural focus driving it towards its goal. It knows that it must reach the inn as soon as possible. Gabriel's life depends on it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry to take so much time between updates. Thanksgiving threw me off a bit, and this chapter is quite a bit longer than the last two! Hopefully our titular mains meeting makes up for the gap between updates. 
> 
> As always, come yell with me about fandom stuff or offer constructive criticism over at my blog, silverthread-writes! Thanks for reading!

Jesse sat cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with his six-shooter. His lower half was underneath the strange table that sat in the center of the room, with a large blanket coming off of each side. Kotatsu, Gina had called it. Gina was their translator, she'd met them at the small port they'd put in at after weeks at sea. She was the only person in all three villages who spoke English, so she served as both a translator and a cultural broker for him and Gabe. She'd explained that the table was made to sit under. It sat on top of what she'd explained was a hearth for heating the room and cooking. It was mighty cozy, and he'd enjoyed sleeping under it last night. 

And the night before that. And the night before that. And every night so far this week. For five days, Gabe had been gone. Gina had told them that it would only take a day and half to reach the center of the forest on foot, where the monster's lair was. That was a three day-round trip. Gabe usually liked to take a day and a night to observe their mark to establish the beast's patterns; if and when it ate, how long it slept and where, how far its territory ranged. At most Gabe would take a day and a half, if he thought he could bring the thing down on his own. That's four and a half days, at most. He should have been back by last night, even if he'd already killed the thing. But he wasn't, and Jesse was getting antsy. 

He'd tried to distract himself by going out into town with his translator. For a while, it had worked. Gina was kind and easy enough to talk to. Since he was lost not only with the Japanese language but with the entirely new culture, she went with him everywhere to make sure he didn't make an idiot of himself or get himself killed eating something that wasn't meant to be eaten. She helped him shop for food, introduced him to a drink called sake, explained things like the kotatsu, and didn't get frustrated when he talked her ear off with questions about the villages' culture and myths. 

On the second day, the night after Gabe had left, they were trading stories in his hotel room over evening tea. Jesse had just finished telling her about the Chupacabra they'd been hired to hunt in the rural area outside of New Orleans. She laughed out loud when he described how the evil mutt had given them the run around- every time they were on its tail, it would run into a populated street or a store. If they tried to grab it it would cry out and look pitiful enough that inevitably, someone would step in to stop them from attacking what, to them, was a defenseless dog. And all the while, the thing was draining their livestock dry. It had come down to them getting a collar and tag made, then managing to get it around the thing's neck. The next time it ran into the street, they were able to drag it back like it was a run-away, and no one gave them a second glance. 

When Gina's laughter had quieted down, Jesse took a thoughtful drink from his cup. "Alright," he'd said. "That's one story from me. Now, can I ask you for one?" 

The translator had seemed to know where he was going before he even said so. She sobered, and took a draw from her cup to steady herself, then nodded. 

"This monster, at the center of the forest. What can you tell me about it? Where did it come from? How long's it been here?" 

Gina had thought for a moment. Then she'd leaned in closer, her voice dropping as if there were anyone who could hear them. "The other townspeople, they wouldn't want me telling you this. They're afraid, or ashamed." She'd taken a deep breath. "Ten years ago, this was a very different place. There's an estate, at the center of the forest. It housed the Shimada clan, a crime family that was once very powerful in this part of the country. They offered the three towns protection from other families, but at a terrible price. We had to do them favors, whatever they asked. They forced many young women and men into service for them, and it got several people killed. We had to pay them for their protection, not just in free food and services but often in money. However much they wanted, whenever they showed up. And if you couldn't pay, well." She'd shrugged. 

Jesse had blown out a breath. He knew the type of family Gina was talking about. He'd worked for one, in another life. "And then what?" He'd pressed, leaning in despite himself. He was a sucker for a good story. 

"It was a dark time, for a long time. Many of the older people in town, it was all they'd known their whole lives. And then, ten years ago, the monster. No one knows where it came from, or why. What we do know is, in one night, it killed them all. Some people went to the estate in the morning, to deliver food, and found them all dead. Bodies, strewn about the castle. Blood and limbs, everywhere. And at the center of it all, a great beast. Like a white wolf, standing on two legs. Ten feet tall, with a mouth large enough to swallow a man's arm." 

Jesse had let out a low, impressed whistle. Killing an entire castle didn't seem to out of character for a lycan. The targeting of a crime syndicate though, that was strange. Werewolves were usually indiscriminate, killing whatever crossed their path. The fact that the townspeople had come back to tell the tale of the monster, that was strange. "Doesn't seem like that bad of a beastie. Sounds like it freed ya'll up from some prize assholes, after all." 

Gina had laughed through her nose, and looked down into her cup. "Yes, some of the villagers thought that. Some still do, especially family members of those the Shimadas killed. Some still leave it offerings, at the edge of the forest, to thank it. I am grateful for it, even. My older brother, he was murdered while doing a favor for the Shimadas that went poorly. But the monster, it's preventing us from getting food and supplies to our villages. If it doesn't leave, somehow, we are just as beholden to it as we are to the family that came before it." 

Jesse had nodded, and knocked the rest of his tea back. It made sense, the people of these towns needed to get on with their lives, and the beast's presence is hindering that. But still, he couldn't help feeling sorry for the poor thing. It was just trying to live. At the time, he'd thought that when Gabe got back, maybe they could try to relocate the thing, rather than put it down. 

But Gabe hadn't come back, and every passing day Jesse grew more and more worried that he had met a fate similar to that family who had lived there a decade ago. 

A sudden slam jolts Jesse from his thoughts. He whips his head in the direction of the sound, his finger already settling on his gun's trigger. There's a flash of white, and then another slam as a ball of feathers tried to put itself through the one window in the room. Jesse sighs, and gets to his feet. When he opens the window, Jack flies through like an owl out of hell. Dread floods the pit of his stomach. He's seen Gabe without Jack plenty of times, but Jack without Gabe? Something's happened. Jesse holds out his arm for the bird to perch on, but the thing just flies around the room like it's crazed. 

"Jack?" Jesse asks. He'd feel silly talking to a bird, if he hadn't seen Gabe do it so often. "What's going on? Where's Gabe?" 

The owl flutters close to his hand, and closes its beak around his bare finger. 

"Ow! You little shit, what the-

Jesse swings his arm, trying to get the bird off his finger. It takes a few moments for him to realize that Jack just isn't biting him. The bird's flapping backwards, trying to tug him towards the door. It doesn't take a genius to put together that Jakc's trying to get him to go after Gabe. Jesse sighs. It's almost a relief, at least he's not uncertain about what's happened anymore. Gabe's in trouble, and he needs help. 

"Alright, alright, I get it. You can let go now. Just let me pack up, and we'll head out." 

Jack let go of his finger and flew over to perch on the table Jesse had been sitting under. It watched Jesse as he packed a few supplies and draped his serape around his shoulders. The owl looked unmistakably impatient until Jesse holstered his six-shooter and slid the door open. He held out his arm again in offering. Jack ignored him, flying a few feet down the hall and then swiveling his head back to make sure Jesse was following. The man rubbed his eyes, and followed after as fast as he could. The sun had only just set. It was going to be a long night. 

 

They were able to make the trip overnight without stopping to rest or eat. A headache was pounding behind Jesse's eyes by the time they reached what looked like it could be a clearing, but he pressed on. The sky was lightening, the silvery grey of a late autumn morning breaking over the tops of the trees. Lycans generally liked to return to their lairs before morning, at least in his and Gabe's part of the world. They would hunt during the night, when they were strongest, and rest during the day. If that were the case with this beast in particular, it would make this both easier and more potentially dangerous. On one hand, the monster was likely asleep. On the other, if it wasn't, it would almost certainly hear him enter. He didn't have Gabe's shadow magic, just some charmed boots and dumb luck. Both had failed him before. 

Thankfully, another thing he had in spades was foolhardiness, and he wasn't going to leave Gabe just because the odds were stacked against him. 

When he came across the estate, it looked like Gina had described it to him. Like a castle, a couple of stories and big enough to house a large family. Jack flew him around towards the back, past an empty pond and an overgrown garden, to the entrance that Gabe had probably used. The floor was made out of the same soft material that the floor at the hotel had been made of. Tatami, Gina had called it. It muffled his steps and, along with his enchanted boots, made him as silent as a breeze. At least, to his own ears. He knows lycans have enhanced senses, and he can only hope that the beast is curled up asleep somewhere. 

Jack's wings are supernaturally soundless as he leads Jesse through the dark, winding halls. The whole estate is eerily quiet, oppressively so. Jesse taps his fingers against his gun, holstered at his hip. Each time they turn a corner, he hopes more and more that something will be waiting to pounce on them, just to end the suspense. He's not like Gabe, who can wait in stakeout for days in disciplined silence. If something was going to happen, Jesse would rather just get it over with as soon as possible. 

Eventually Jack leads him to a room in the corner of the estate. It's windowless and dark, the light from outside unable to penetrate this deep into the castle. The owl flies into the room and hovers over a spot in the center of it. It takes Jesse's eyes a moment to adjust, but when they do, he sees what Jack's trying to bring his attention to. He rushes to the grate set in the floor. From within, he hears a faint, wet cough. Jesse grabs at one of the amulets that hang from his neck, and murmurs a brief incantation over it. The metal begins to glow, a faint warm light strong enough to work by. "Gabe!" He hisses at the grate, trying to keep his voice low enough not to draw attention but loud enough to be heard. "Gabe, you down there?" 

He hears a shuffling, and then Gabe's face appears from the dark, looking up from what must be some kind of cellar or something. He's pale and wan, but it's Gabe. Jesse feels a manic laughter bubble up in his chest. Gabe looks somewhere between relieved and frightened, but his voice is strong when he grabs the grate and speaks. "What are you doing here? Jess, you have to leave. Now. That's an order." 

Jesse huffs and begins to look over the grate. There's gotta be a lock he can pick, a latch he can break so he can open the door and pull Gabe out. "Don't worry about it, old man. I'll get y'out of here, and we're gonna find whatever threw you in here, and then we're hopping on the next ship outta here. Aha!" He's found a lock. It looks relatively well-cared for, but it's nothing that he couldn't pick. He feels on his belt for his picking tools, 

Gabe growls in the way that Jesse's sure would mean he'd grab his collar and shake him around, if the older man could reach up far enough to get him. "What I wouldn't give for you to listen to me for once in your goddamn life. Jesse, go. If you ever respected me, you'll do as I-" 

Jesse glances up from the lock he's working to look over at Gabe. Their eyes don't meet. Gabe's gone even paler, if that were possible, and he's staring beyond Jesse. At something over his shoulder. The hunter tenses, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His hand inches minutely along his thigh, towards his holster. "Jesse," Gabe says from the corner of his mouth, his voice low. "Don't be an idiot. You're not gonna shoot your way out of this." 

Gabe still isn't looking at him. Jesse slides his hand away from his hip and raises both in the air, keeping his movements slow. He takes a breath, and turns on his heel. 

He can't make out a lot from the dim glow of his charm, just a silhouette and a pair of bright, golden eyes. The thing is massive, several heads taller than Jesse. It's easily the biggest lycan he's ever seen, and Jesse can feel himself losing his nerve. A tail swishes behind the thing, the only movement in the room. The thing looks like it's waiting for something, a reason to pounce at a moment's notice. Jesse swallows past the fear rising in his throat, and relies on his experience talking his way out of bad situations.

"Well, I'm guessin' you're the gracious host of this castle, yeah? Thanks for taking care of the old man for me. Now, if you'll just let him go, we'll get out of your hair. So to speak." 

The vaguely humanoid-shaped mass shifts, drawing closer but not near enough to the light for Jesse to make anything out. "The hunter came here to kill me." A voice floats up from the shadow, rough and obviously seldom-used, but very much human. Jesse doesn't know if he can remember a lycan that was capable of human speech when fully transformed. What was this thing? "He came to steal my life. It is only right that I decide what happens to his. A life for a life. You will not change my mind." 

Jesse frowns. He's already out of his element, dealing with a werewolf the likes of which he's never seen. Not only human speech, but it sounds like it can reason and think the way humans do as well. What the hell is this thing? If it came down to a fight, would any of the tricks he knows against lycans even work? He feels defenseless, uncertain, but he has to get Gabe out of here. It's obvious that he's starving, probably sick as well from the damp fall air. He won't last long if he stays cooped up in this cellar. 

"Please," he tries. If the monster talks like a human and thinks like a human, Jesse hopes against hope that there's some sort of humanity in the thing that he can appeal to. "He's my father, can't you see he's sick? He needs food and medicine, or he'll die. Please, let him go." 

The monster shifts, drawing closer almost like it's curious. It steps to the edge of the glow cast by Jesse's charm, but it doesn't cross into it. Jesse almost wishes the thing would, so he can find out what he's up against, but the part of his mind that's scared shitless of this thing is glad to keep it in shadow. There's a pause, a few heartbeats where neither of them say anything. Jesse expects a massive paw to come down from on high and clobber him over the head, but after a few breaths all that comes from the beast is a low growl. "He came here to kill me. If I let him go, both of you will come back here and finish the job. You have not harmed me, so I will give you a chance to leave, now. Do not return." 

A rattling cough comes from somewhere near his feet. Jesse wonders what's got in Gabe's lungs- could it be pneumonia? How long would he last in a damp, dirty cellar without access to fresh air or food and water? Jesse grits his teeth. Leaving Gabe now would be a death sentence for the man, and that's not happening. He takes a breath, and steels himself. "What about if I stayed, instead?" 

There's another pause, this one shocked. Jesse can see the silhouette of ears pricking up in surprise, but the monster quickly regains its composure. "You?" It says, more confused than aggressive. "You would stay in his place?" 

"Jesse!" Gabe's voice below him sounds ragged, but that doesn't take away from how, if he weren't locked up, Jesse is positive the man would be trying to throttle him right about now. "What do you think you're doing?!" 

"I would." Jesse answers quickly, raising his voice over Gabriel's protests. "A life for a life, right? Mine should be just as good as his. And, if he tries to come back, you got me as a hostage. Please, if I stay, will you let him go?" 

The beast huffs, but takes a step closer. And another step. Jesse can't help but gasp as the lycan breaches the barrier of the light cast from his amulet. He can finally make out the details of the massive silhouette; it's like a fully-formed lycan, right down to the snarling snout, drawn back ears, and tail swishing menacingly behind its digitigrade hind legs. But there are aspects of the thing that hint at something almost human. The tufts of white fur near the beast's maw are braided, almost like a beard would be. There are golden markings underneath its eyes, and spiraling up its left arm, almost like a tattoo. The thing looks clean, without a mat or a streak of blood marring the pristine white fur that covers its entire body. The monster looks down at Jesse, regarding him. It doesn't step any closer when it speaks. "If I let him go, you will stay here forever. You will be my prisoner. Do you agree?"

"I do." Jesse answers quickly, swallowing past the fear that threatens to crack his voice. 

"Jesse!" Gabe cries out. Jesse doesn't know if he's heard Gabe's voice strike that pitch before- desperate, almost panicked. He can't help but look behind and down at Gabe, at his face, drawn tight in dismay and dread. Jesse watches as the beast reaches down one paw and rips the door off its hinges, snapping the lock open as if it were a delicate length of thread. Gabe cries out something that sounds vaguely like his name as he's dragged up from the cellar. He kicks and struggles against the beast's grip as the thing drags him out of the room. 

And then he's alone, not even able to say goodbye to the only father he's ever known. Jesse finally allows his shaking legs to give out, and sinks against the wall. He sits there, elbows hugged around his knees, in the dark and the cold.


End file.
